Squirly Huffer
Autobot City - Repair Bay This is the main repair bay for the Autobots. Several operating tables lie in a row here, and a long bench lines one wall. On the bench are assorted tools used in repairing damaged Transformers. Scattered throughout the room are various repair bots, awaiting the arrival of more wounded to repair. The room gives you the perception of being immaculately clean, not a tool out of place. On the left side of the operating arena are wide sliding doors that open into the recovery ward. Less frantic than the busy repair bay, it consists of two rows of immaculate beds on opposite walls for those needing peace and quiet to rest and recover from their repairs. The sounds of quiet conversations between medic and patient, or between visitor and patient, are about all that disturb the quiet Crosshairs makes his way into the medical bay with his trademark grumpy expression and what appears to be a bandolier of grenades slung across his shoulder. As per his nominal direction, he sits down at one of the medical tables and begins the task of dissassembling the explosives casually. "So I heard." He confirms to Nosecone. "Thought I'd best be on hand as well." Nosecone's been all patched up, and he just got his missiles reloaded. "Hmmm, my drill should probably be sharpened too," he murmurs. Patchwork comes out of one of the back areas, having heard Crosshair's familiar voice. She has a spring in her step, a bounce really. "Crosshairs!" she calls, brightly, offering Nosecone a brief wave. Bitbucket doesn't even seem to detour from his usual duties as he sets a tray of delicate tools on the medtable next to the explosives being disassembled. A slow, repetitive disruptive metal clanking eminates from the sliding doors, followed shortly by muffled yelling. "Stupid squirrels!" The doors open and shut, almost mocking Huffer. The yelling continues -- "THIS is why I try not to go outside of the city when I don't have to. But noooo, we need this repaired, and we need that repaired." Blades enters from the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. Blades has arrived. Crosshairs pauses with his fingers over the pin of one of the grenades he was working on. If he looks grumpy, he looks a little grumpier as Patchwork enters. His head lowers and his demeeanor becomes a little more uncomfortable like he is hiding. Then she finds him. Bah! "Patchwork." He says, by way of greeting. Then, when the rhythmic banging begins he grabs the first thing to hand -- a giant wrench -- and leaps over to the door. Only to lower it when Huffer comes out. "You!" He says. He was expecting a Deceptcon infiltrator or something. Impactor wanders into the Repair Bay, a datapad in one hand and the harpoon attachment on the other, currently scratching his helmplate. The Wrecker lifts his optics to look at the occupants of the room quickly before putting them back down again, furiously clicking through the hand held device's screen of options. Impactor takes a seat near the left wall, right outside of the arena's silding door. Patchwork skids to a stop at the grouchy greeting from Crosshairs, her nose scrunching up as she watches him turn and race towards the door. "HUh. Fine then." she mutters before Impactor's appearance has her turning towards him. "You look better than the last time I saw you." Huffer wallows on the ground, his left leg blackened by who-knows-what. He looks up at Crosshairs, holding the wrench directly over him. "You going to hit me with that, or you going to drag me in? Make up your mind!" He grunts to himself and repeats by way of muttering, "Stupid, stupid squirrels." Blades steps into the room last, he's missing his ablative armour plating on his right arm. He stays at the entrance and takes quick glance around the room before asking, "Eh, this ain't a bad time to ask if you guys got anymore spare ablative armour platings for a size five arm latch, is it?" Crosshairs lowers the wrench. He also beckons Patchwork over. He's staring in something like disbelief. Both optics are a little wide and he hasn't actually lowered the wrench yet. "Patchwork." He says, finally. " . . when I am not grouchy." Must be responding to a private radio conversation. "You want to come over here and have a look at squirrels here, please?" His arms lift to a cross over his chest. "Squirrels?" He asks Huffer. "As in . . the micro-sized, furry, gathers nuts, squirrels?" "Seems I got off lightly," Nosecone says, as he gets up off the repair slab. "Is it just me, or is that blue spaceship really hard to hit? Impactor glances up with a scowl, then notices it's Patchwork: friend to all woodland animals and painter of rocks. "Hrm, when did you see me last? I always try to keep a fresh coat of wax on, unless it was after a skirmish?" "Squirrels?" Patchwork echoes, not quite making it to Impactor before she's half turning, only to throw over her shoulder quickly, "Yup, it was after a fight. I like your fresh wax!" she informs him with a grin before she scampers (yes, she really scampers...it's frightening!) to the door. "Where are the squirrels, Crosshairs...oh. Hi. That doesn't look good." she murmurs down to Huffer. Blades raises an optical ridge as he realize that most of the technicians in here are already occupied, "Eh, don't mind me. I'll think I can find it in the storage bay over there." He then begins making his way over to the storage bay when he hears Nosecone's comment and don't hesistate to quickly add in his two cent, "You're telling me, Nosecone. I couldn't hit squat, I could've sworn a few cycles ago Redshift and that loud bucket of bolt buddy enjoyed eating our photon discharges. I still remember the good ol' days when the Decepticons were too stupid to dodge." Blades then continues towards the storage bay and begins searching for his needed parts. Bitbucket sets aside what he's doing and approaches Blades. "Sir, is there anything I can do to help?" Huffer rolls his eyes, sighs, and exhales loudly, all while talking. "Yes, yes. Squirrels." He regains his composure which, naturally, doesn't amount to much other than cynicism. "Not that I can blame them. If I had been a squirrel, I would've done the same. Naturally only fair, as they're the joke of the cosmos, they may as well have their revenge." He lifts his head to look at his leg and screams "Stupid squirrels!" "Eh? Me? Thanks, bud. I'm just trying to find a piece of ablative armour plating to replace the one I lost." Blades replies to Bitbucket and points at the area where the raised armour plating on his right arm should've been. "I don't need anything personalized really, First Aid can probably get that done for me later if I feel vain enough. Just need something to slap on there is all." Bitbucket looks at Blades' arm as well. "I can get that for you, sir. I'll be right back." Huffer cocks his head back, gazing between Crosshair's lower legs into the bay. He spots the upside-down white, blocky legs of Blades walking away. "Hey! Where do you think you're going! I can't even walk! I've been attacked by a squirrel and can't get up!" He squirms uncomfortably, tortured by his own distain for the verminous creatures. Crosshairs scratches his head as he looks down at the orange-and-white one. "Squirrels." He says, dubviously. He waits for Huffer to stop speaking, which may or may not be a good thing as chances are it's going to take awhile. "Squirrels." He repeats. "Why don't you try some specifics and tell us what Squirrels did you . . " He pauses again, and has to put his hand over his mouth. Then the same hand pats Patchwork between her shoulder blades. "I think . . " He says. "That Huffer is all yours, Medic." Blades nods appreciatively at Bitbucket as he watches the Autobot go on ahead, "Oh hey, I know the socket on my arm looks like a size 5.5 but I'd much prefer a size 5. It'd lock in just fine, but I prefer it a little looser for comfort sakes." Continuing in his pattern of sigh-eye-rolling-speaking, Huffer rolls smoothly into an unstoppable whine, ignoring Patchwork in the process -- obviously far more interested in talking than being repaired. "Oh, there's a battle going on, but don't worry, Huffer. It's far, far away. You won't get hurt. Go and upgrade the turrets that, by the way, have worked time and time again just fine. But for some reason today, you need to upgrade them. That's right! The rewarding life of a construction bot! Performing menial, worthless tasks because, well, you can!" Impactor is neglected in the Repair Bay, which makes some sort of sense considering he's neither injured or a medic. This is his office away from the distractions of occasional annoyances that having an actual dweling that people could easily locate you at. Bitbucket pauses on his way back across the room toward Blades to stare at Huffer, then hurries on again. If that mech is complaining about menial tasks, what does that make HIM? Crosshairs is trying to back away from Huffer as best he can so he can get back to his grenades. Maybe he's secretly evaluating Patchwork to see how she handles this situation. Maybe he just wants to escape. It's hard to say. Unfortunatly, he is foiled by himself as he turns to peer at Huffer again. "So." He asks. "The squirrels damaged the turrets somehow, huh? And you got toasted?" Patchwork straightens, as Huffer continues his one man tirade. She's had enough of a chance to look over his leg, and make a decision. "It'll have to come off. And I don't have anything to replace it with...maybe we should get one of the Junkions to come up with something to replace it with. What do you think, Impactor? Crosshairs?" she wonders as she turns to head into the repair bay a little further. Huffer glances randomly around the room, mistakingly catching an eyeful of I'm-not-trying-to-mock-you-but-it's-hard faces. He quickly looks down at his leg as if to avoid embarassment and continues full-throttle. "So, I go out to the first turret. The first turret! And everything's calm. Nobody or nothing's around. There's not even the slightest breeze. I pop off the outer layer of armor with my power-torque wrench and balance it carefully on the top so it's out of the way but not filling with dust from the ground. And then, THEN out of NOWHERES a blasted squ -- what, it'll have to WHAT? Who are you! Decepticon! Someone help, I'm at the mercy of a decepticon!!" And with that final outburst, he abruptly lets his head fall to the floor resulting in a clunk, his eyes closing in the process. Oh, but his drone doesn't stop -- he continues to mutter unintelligebly. Crosshairs just kind of stares again. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. Then, seeming to make up his mind, rises to his feet. "So." He says. "I understand you've been away for a long time. Just in case you haven't figured it out yet, since some of us are new faces, we've all got the Autobrand here. That's impactor over there . . resident psycopath and soldier, this is Patchwork, and I'm Crosshairs. There isn't no Decepticons here. Just squr . . " He manages to fight his urge to get the last words out. He doesn't say it. Eyes still closed, Huffer quietly mutters, "Ahg nog libnok fib squirrels ahg brbbbbrg must kill pghghater Decepticon squirrels haylrad." Patchwork is the biggest Decepticon ever! Fear her! "Sedate him? Well, of course I'm going to sedate him. If the squirrels did as much damage as he's making it out that they did, then there's no other choice. Now, if it's just cosmetic, well...but it can't be, the way he's carrying on." Patchwork tosses a bright-optic'd glance to Crosshairs, only just managing not to grin widely. Impactor is still furiously scrolling through the datapad, trying to search for resident engineers and construction specialists. The frenzy that's currently going on in the Repair Bay goes unnoticed, until he hears his name mentioned. Looking up, he furrows his brow. "Yes, soldier." he merely mentions in a hushed tone, going back to his work. Drips of potential words continue to softly leak out of Huffer's mouth. "Narblib litnok Decepticon squirrel zobnimide threw nut mahglab armor plating zibmibnlog..." Bitbucket sets the new section of plating for Blades' arm on the table next to him, pausing to examine the sockets as they're pointed out. "I understand completely, sir." He goes to get a few tools and returns quickly enough to start attaching the plating. "Sorry I don't have any paint to match at this moment, sir, but I'm sure it can be taken care of tomorrow if that's all right." Crosshairs doesn't really give much of a verbal reply this time, and reaches out to attempt to manually roll Huffer over. "Okay." He says. "Less talk, more sense." Nonetheless, his voice is paitent. Speaking of paitent, he does give Patchwork an almost charming smile. Why, this might be the first time he ever did. "Your paitent!" Impactor rises, muttering something into his commlink before making his way for the door. Sidestepping the obstacle that is Huffer, he grins politely. "Have fun with that Crosshairs." Blades watches intently as Bitbucket attaches the plating. Sure he's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed amongst the Autobots, but he knows enough to learn from someone elses' experience and right now he is watching carefully as the technician installs the armour plating on to his arm, "Eh, nah it's alright. I'm satisfied as long as this thing is attached onto me and it does its job. Besides, I've been down on my luck lately. Chances are I'm going to be back in here again in a few days." The Protectobot raises his left hand and balls it up into a fist in a fit of anger, "Primus knows how long my grudge list has gotten after today. Smegging Seekers..." Not particularly clear if he's concious or not, you nonetheless have to admire the sturdy design of Huffer's audio synthesis unit. It must be quite modular and well-built compared to the rest of his systems. "Stalpinerk falls nibs tip energy concentrator kabnitlop nopfib overload yolnikad ziblipnod." And being sturdy, maybe all it needs is a good "physical" repair. "I defer to your senior standing." Patchwork promptly informs Crosshairs, hands hooking together behind ehr back as she rocks forward onto her toes. "But I can paint nice rainbows and flowers on the leg in whatever form the Junkions come up with." She glances to Blades as he speaks, and her frown fades. "I don't like the Seekers..." Bitbucket doesn't lock down the plating until he takes a moment to make sure everything is properly aligned and nothing underneath will get pinched or something similar. Then he finishes securing the plating. "Sir, from what I've seen, anger is a self-perpetuating cycle of bad luck." The moment the words are out of the medtech's mouth, he looks like he's regretting saying anything at all. Crosshairs considers. "You know, Patchwork." He says, reaching to his toolkit. "Why don't you just /repair/ him? It occurs to me that he isn't really struggling . . " he then stops and glances at Bitbucket. "What do /you/ know about being angry? I haven't seen you so much say a foul word. One of these days, I'm going to take a spanner and poke you with it until you show /some/ reaction." And that's why Bitbucket is regretting saying anything. His only response to Crosshairs, though? "Um, sorry, sir." Patchwork hesitates a moment before she bobs her head to Crosshairs. "Put him on the table." the medic replies in a rather surprisingly subdued manner as she, herself, turns to move over and get the things she'd need to complete the repair. "Zmblrg BOOM kglat BOOM buzjarg Decepticon squirrel snickered at me lazportid garnipad..." Now you can be certain Huffer's central processing core is entirely disengaged from his audio sythesis unit, although it's not obvious how this is particularly different from normal. Crosshairs glanecs at Patchwork for a moment in response to a radio message. "Not to you." He says, audibly, then bends down, meaning to scoop Huffer up and drop him on the medical table. He's reaching for a sedative in a very subtle manner also. "You got that right. For being the supposed sword of the Decepticon empire, they sure like to shoot at humans more than they like us. It sizzles mah circuits just thinking about it." He responds back at Patchwork. Looks like it's one of those days where Blades is just venting after getting his humbled again by a superior foe. The Protectobot turns his head back to Bitbucket after hearing his comment and ----instinctively begins to object-----, "Well---" and then he starts thinking back... that time with Blight, that other time in the Decepticon shuttle, and the finally tonight with the Seekers. Suddenly a glint of clearity flashes in Blades' blue optics as his mouth goes wide at the realization that Bitbucket just might be right, "---well I'll be damned..." Huffer, unconciously reacting to the dark blob barely perceivable through his disengaged optical sensor, squirms a bit. "Nnngggg!! Get away from me squirrel!" He lightly flails his limbs about. Gears enters from the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. Gears has arrived. Bitbucket looks up at Blades questioningly. "Sir?" He moves to check the newly attached plating to make sure that that isn't what made him exclaim that way. Crosshairs doesn't hesitate at this point. He knows how to deal with those like Huffer. That Rodimus Prime, boy, he is a real wiggler. Huffer isn't much different, it's just verbal. And so, he makes a move to pat Huffer's arm, and in doing so attempts to hit him with an electronic sedative! If successful, he steps back, passing the back of his hand across his brow. "All yours, Patches." He says, attempting to elbow her gently. "That crack about the leg was mean!" Gears limps into the Repair bay, holding his shoulder. "Blasted pulleys are squeaking again," he mutters, then announces loudly, "Is there a doctor in the house?" Patchwork doesn't seem in a mood to take a turn bak to being all that chipper, and she deftly steps around the elbow from Crosshairs. "I still need him on the table...and I hoped it would just get him to smarten up and stop complaining enough to think straight." she mutters to the older Autobot as she stoops to try and pick Huffer up to deposit him on one of the working tables. She looks to Gears as she does, and nods. "Several. Grab a table, we'll get to you in a second..." "Eh?" Blades blinks as he snaps back to reality and quickly responds back to Bitbucket, "Oh ah it's nothing. You're right I think I'll go and take it easy for a while." He moves his right arm and finds the balance to be just right, "Hey thanks for the quick fix, bud. Much obliged." The Protectobot nods in appreciation to Bitbucket once more before heading out towards the exit. Bitbucket nods and picks up his tools as Blades takes his leave. "You're welcome, sir." He returns the tools to their proper places and goes back to his usual duites -- which at the moment appear to consist of studying used parts and sorting them into 'refurbish', 'recycle', and 'rubbish' piles. Blades leaves to the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. Blades has left. Thank Primus! The annoying little noise box wielded by the orange and white construction robot softly tones down to merely a gentle whirr, and shortly thereafter is entirely silent. Oh, yes, and his limbs stop moving about as well. Maybe something can finally get done -- if there's actually anything to do, that is. Crosshairs relaxes visibly one Huffer settles down. Straightening up, he nods once at Patchwork. "Look, uh." He says. He drops his voice to a conspiritorial whisper as he glances down at Huffer. "I'm . . sorry?" He said it! And in public, too. "Stop by the munitions bay, later. I've got something for you." Then he pats the sleeping Huffer on the shoulder too, and dissapears. Patchwork watches Crosshairs as he leaves before she turns back to Huffer on the table. He really didn't have alot wrong with him, most if it cosmetic, and since he's out anyways, might as well be now. "Bit, can you do Gears?" she wonders as she starts. Gears takes a seat, more or less agreeably, though his features are knit together in consternation. "I swear to Prime, every stinking patrol, something goes wrong. If it's not the servos, it's the pulleys. If it's not the pulleys, it's the filters. Why is this planet out to get me? Huffer lays perfectly still. Who knows what sort of cynical Decepticon squirrel conspiracy theories he's cooking up inside that bothersome head of his? It's hard not to think he'll emerge from his sedation even more bizarre than he already is. "Sorry Gears." the teal femme offers softly to Gears as she moves to take up a rag and start by wiping off Huffer's leg. The effort is quickly rewarded with the removal of the 'damage'. Nothing but soot and carbon residue. Sighing, Patchwork does the best she can removing it (which only takes a brief moment) before she administers the counter agent to the earlier sedative. Bitbucket sets aside what he's working on to go check on Gears, as the others are still busy dealing with Huffer. "Is it the pulleys this time, sir?" Even worse, Huffer might still be under the gear-loose impression that Patchwork is indeed a Decepticon. After all, it was the last thing he said before falling unconcious from the "damage". Patchwork turns slightly, and she sees that Bit is, indeed, looking after Gears. With a slight nod to herself, the medic heads off. Bitbucket glances over to note Huffer leaving, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he concentrates on dealing with Gears' many aches and pains. "Figures he's leaving," Gears mutters, "I bet he has to go see if the sky is falling. Well it is, he doesn't have to go out and look." The sliding door opens as Huffer approaches. As Gears mutters, his eyes shift in concerned reaction to his sky remark. Nonetheless, he slips out and the door closes again, concealing the orange and white construction robot, aside from the rapidly fading, clanking sound of his footsteps.